


Forever Frozen Still

by wehangout



Series: Gallavich Week 2015 [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Mandy's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 08:50:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4131519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wehangout/pseuds/wehangout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knowing and believing aren’t the same thing - never have been. She knew her mom was gone; never believed it until there was no adult around to save her from Terry. She knew Lip would screw her over eventually; didn’t believe it until she found out he was still fucking Karen. She knew Ian and Mickey were a thing, together, in love; didn’t believe it until the morning after her dad got himself locked up again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever Frozen Still

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Gallavich Week 2015. Day 1 - First Time. It might not fit the prompt exactly, but it's still a first time centered around Ian and Mickey.
> 
> Title comes from the song "Photograph" by Ed Sheeran.

It’s amazing what a bar brawl can do. Mandy _knows_ that Mickey and Ian are a - a _thing._ She’s known it since the night of Mickey’s wedding. It’s been an absolute fact since the night Ian told a room full of drunk idiots who wouldn’t remember anything come morning that he was in love - no, that he was _fucking_ Mickey.

Ian was fucking Mickey.

Ian has been fucking Mickey for a while.

How long has Ian been fucking Mickey?

Fuck it. How long has Ian been _in love_ with Mickey?

And it is love. She doesn’t doubt that one bit. She knows her best friend better than she knows anyone in this fucked-up world, and she knew that was love on his face every time he talked about the guy - the guy who wouldn’t commit, the guy who was still in the closet, the guy who refused to kiss him. She knew Ian was in love with Mickey when he said those things at Mickey’s wedding.

Just like she knew he was in love with Mickey when he turned up at their house a week later, looking sad but resolute, needing more than just one word to stick around this time.

And despite what she said to Mickey that day, she knew then that he was just as in love with Ian. She’s not sure that Mickey or Ian knew or realised that, but she knew. She knew just by the look on Mickey’s face when he turned to her, by the fucking tears he was forcing back. She knew, and she hated him for being such a fucking little bitch.

But knowing and believing aren’t the same thing - never have been. She knew her mom was gone; never believed it until there was no adult around to save her from Terry. She knew Lip would screw her over eventually; didn’t believe it until she found out he was still fucking Karen. She knew Ian and Mickey were a thing, together, in love; didn’t believe it until the morning after her dad got himself locked up again.

She didn’t believe it until she went to wake them and found them together. It wasn’t any horrible moment of seeing her brother’s dick that caught her off guard - fuck knows that’s happened far too many times, being the only girl in a house of Milkovich boys - but rather catching the two of them off guard.

They’re sleeping, facing each other, breaths coming softly in the early morning light. The rumpled sheet barely covers their bare waists, and seems to make whatever she’s walked in on seem incredibly intimate, but she’s able to look past that for the chance to capture this rare moment. To understand this still surprising relationship.

She slips through the open door, careful to avoid that one floorboard that creaks like a motherfucker, and walks further into the room. Neither Mickey nor Ian stir at her presence, and she frowns down at them, hating the cuts and bruises she can see, really fucking hating the blossoming purple on Ian’s ribs.

She looks away from the clear pain and takes in the shocking beauty. Their legs, tangled together - not like guys who _fuck,_ but like lovers. Their hands, clasped tightly together even in sleep, and she doesn’t think she’s ever seen Mickey hold anyone’s hand but hers - and that was too many years ago to count - yet here he is, holding Ian’s while his free one presses tattooed knuckles against Ian’s abdomen. Their heads, tilted towards each other brings their tangled feet to a full circle, foreheads touching, red and black hair clashing, awful morning breath mixing.

It’s incredible.

It’s amazing how Yevgeny’s screaming doesn’t wake them. It’s amazing that they have this freedom now. It’s really fucking amazing when Ian rolls onto his stomach and Mickey goes with it, his entire body pressing up against Ian’s side, fucking snuggling into him.

And it’s only now, watching them like this, that she’s okay with it. She didn’t know everything before - she’ll be the first to admit that - but she wasn’t okay with it, either. Not just because they both lied to her for so fucking long, but because Mickey just wasn’t good enough for Ian.

Ian is good and kind and sweet. Maybe one day she’ll see his flaws, but for now Ian is everything Milkoviches aren’t, and there’s not a single Milkovich out there, including herself, that deserves him.

Except.

Except maybe Mickey. Mickey brought him home. Mickey stayed at that fucking Gallagher house just to be near him. Mickey came out for him.

She wishes she could have seen it, could have seen Mickey stand up for himself to the piece of shit who made him get married. A part of her thinks that, had she seen it, she could have had this feeling last night, this feeling of finally knowing and believing, of understanding what it is these two have.

But another part, the part that can’t quite bring herself to move away from the sight in front of her, is glad she missed it. This, what she’s seeing right now, is a once in a lifetime moment, and it wouldn’t mean nearly as much had she caught the main event last night. This is her main event.

Ian shifts again and Mickey just moves right with him until they’re a knotted mess of arms and legs, cuts and bruises, Ian’s face pressed far too close to Mickey’s arm pit, Mickey’s fingers and face buried deep into Ian’s hair, hands gripping whatever piece of flesh is there and available. They end up even closer than before, not a hint of space between them, and it looks uncomfortable as fuck, but they’re still so deeply asleep that she thinks it can’t be too bad.

She also thinks that no matter how awkward the position, maybe it’s always comfortable so long as it’s with the right person.

Feeling lighter than she has in days, weeks, months, she yanks her phone from her back pocket, flicks it to silent, and quickly captures the moment Mickey would kill her if he knew, and she doesn’t think Ian would be thrilled to wake up and find her standing over them with her phone out, but she doesn’t care. She knows Ian will be pleased with the photo, will want her to send it through to him immediately. It’s the kind of moment that needs to be captured, the kind of moment she hopes will last forever.

And she knows that whatever relationship she has in the future, this moment is what she needs to compare it to.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://wehangout.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Many thanks to [Ella](http://hubrisandwax.tumblr.com/)


End file.
